The divine Oscar will soon be wafted to Boston, and then we shall see whether the cultured and literary inhabitants of "Modern Athens" burn and are utterly consumed with the fire of precious and supreme transcendentally, or in cold and unappreciative apathy turn their backs upon the king of aesthetes and abhorrer of the common place. Bostonians surely appreciate the beautiful, but will they place in their shrines the chaste sun-flower and immaculate lily, and before them kneel in aesthetic adoration and reverence? We cannot tell. Will the sons of Fair Harvard, imitators of the island-born Briton, also conform to the manners of him who yearns and is intense? Will they wander aimlessly through the yard with woe-begone expressions, clad in a gauze of glowing supremity and a hot-house poppy? The future alone can decide. But whatever may come, may we never see the day when the Memorial menu presents to the famished student "sunflower saute aux champignons," "poppy frite aux petits pois," "lily a la maitre d'hotel." AEsthetic costumes may be adopted at Harvard, but the divine flame can never be fed by dishes whose chief virtue is ethereality.